


Home Is Wherever I'm With You

by aussiebee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Babcia Stilinski - Freeform, Location: Poland, M/M, Stilinski Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 02:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14034387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: Written for the 2018 Sterek Glompfest for @threesnakeleaves and their prompt:'When he left, Derek moved to rural somewhere in Europe, and Stiles is backpacking during his gap year. He stumbles on a little town and spots Derek. With beards?'Not exactly to the brief, but there is a Polish grandmother, Stilinski cousins, a token attempt at Stiles being a Real Boy, and our two resident idiots mutually pining from afar until they find themselves in the right place at the right time.AKAStiles goes backpacking across Europe and eventually settles with his family in Poland to go to uni there. He's trying his hardest to forget the drama of the past, and to get over a certain werewolf he once knew, but it turns out that's not as easy to do as he'd hoped.





	Home Is Wherever I'm With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@threesnakeleaves](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40threesnakeleaves).



Coming to the end of his twelve weeks of travelling was bittersweet for Stiles. He’d had the time of his life travelling all over Europe, meeting new friends, catching up with old ones (Isaac had found his _people_ in France- everyone wore scarves, mostly unironically), experiencing different cultures and throwing himself headlong into every adventure he could stumble across. And the food, good lord, the food was next level. He might have been living the hard backpacker life, but he was pretty sure he’d gained about fifty pounds as a result of all the amazing meals he’d partaken of.

But it was time, he felt. Time to settle again, to surround himself with family and love and comfort, and to get started on the rest of his life. The winter semester at the University of Warsaw began in just two short weeks, and Stiles was both nervous and excited to begin studying. He’d been accepted into the forensic science programme and was looking forward to the challenge of not only learning again, but doing so in Polish.

Sighing contentedly as the train began slowing on its approach to the station in Zakopane, Stiles reached his arms above his head and stretched lazily, taking care to elbow Kacper in the head as he did so, waking his cousin with a start and grinning at the scowl he was given in return.

“It’s such a shame you and I will be studying on opposite sides of the campus when school starts,” Kacper told him in Polish.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles responded in kind, “I’ll make sure to come and see you regularly.”

Kacper just rolled his eyes and yawned widely. “I cannot wait until Babcia sees this,” he added, reaching over to tug on the messy scruff covering Stiles’ chin. “You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t tie you to the chair in the kitchen and shave you with the _brzytwa_.”

Frowning at the unfamiliar word, Stiles tried to figure it out before asking for a definition.

“It is that thing for the shaving,” Kacper said in heavily-accented English.

“A razor?”

“Yes, but also not.” He frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Like the Johnny Depp barber movie.”

Stiles laughed. “A cut-throat razor?”

“Yes, cut-throat.”

Stiles paused to imagine it, and felt vaguely horrified. His grandmother was a truly terrifying woman, for all that her head barely reached his collarbones. The thought of her wielding a cut-throat razor was deeply unsettling. He shook the image from his mind and reached into his bag for his phone, turning it on and waiting for the expected barrage of messages to come through. He sent a handful of replies to his dad, Scott, Lydia and Erica, as well as a handful from the people he had met in the last three months.

He was skimming hopefully through his emails when Kacper leaned obtrusively over his shoulder, eyes alight. “Well?” he demanded, his dark eyes shining.

“Just the usual suspects,” Stiles said, aiming for light and missing by a mile.

“Don’t worry,” Kacper said kindly. “Tonight we go out with Aleks and Lena and Oliwia and we will drink much to make the pain less, yes?”

Stiles smiled lopsidedly, but managed a short nod. “Sounds good.”

“Good. Now gather your things. Tata will be waiting for us, and I would like to get home before it gets so dark we drive off the mountains.”

*

Kacper’s father, Mateusz, drove like a madman. Stiles had been in vehicles with drivers of some seriously questionable skill-- looking at _you_ , Scott-- but he’d never quite feared for his life the way he did with Uncle Mat at the wheel. To say his grip was white-knuckled was an egregious understatement, and Kacper spent most of the hair-raising drive back to Ząb laughing at Stiles and mocking him for his weak American constitution.

They did make it, however, though Stiles barely refrained from falling to his knees to kiss solid ground after the harrowing drive up narrow, winding roads. He flipped Kacper off as his cousin snickered and shouldered his pack wearily on his way into the small house his grandmother lived in, carefully wiping his feet on the mat outside the door before entering.

“Mieczysław; Kacper,” Babcia called, her voice strong and commanding. “Put your things away and come to help me with dinner.”

“Yes, Babcia,” they called back obediently, racing each other up the stairs to the room they were sharing at the back of the house as she shouted at them to stop thumping so loudly across her floors.

Stiles took a moment to wash his face in the tiny upstairs bathroom, wryly stroking a hand over his chin as he pretended the dark circles under his eyes were new and only caused by the long days of travel. He sighed and stopped in the bedroom to grab something from his pack before heading back downstairs, ducking beneath the low timber lintel leading into the kitchen as he swept his grandmother up into a tight hug.

In spite of her slight stature she hugged him the same way his dad did, with her entire body and startling strength. “Mój kochanie,” she murmured against his chest, her arms tight around his ribs. “It is good to see you back home.”

“I missed you, Babcia,” he told her honestly, breathing in the comforting scents of savoury food, woodfire and the dried lavender and verbena his grandmother kept in muslin packages in the drawers and linen cupboards throughout the house. “And I brought you something,” he told her, and pulled the big bag of Bronhi eucalyptus toffees from the front pocket of his hoodie to present to her.

“Mieczysław!” she exclaimed, smacking his shoulder even as she accepted the gift. “You should not be spending your money on me!”

“You shush,” he told her with a wide smiled. “I am allowed to spoil my favourite Babcia, especially when she takes such good care of me, okay?”

The pleased smile on her face made dragging the bag home across four countries worth it. He smiled again as she patted his cheek and passed him the bag to open, laughing when he unwrapped one of the sweets and bit it in half before passing the remainder to her, just as he had done when he had been a child.

“You are a good boy,” she told him fondly, running a careful thumb across one cheekbone. “But this stupidness hides your beautiful face, and it must go,” she told him sternly, tugging at his beard.

“Told you,” Kacper said smugly as he entered the kitchen. “Hi, Babcia; what’s for dinner?”

“Kopytka,” she told him, tilting her cheek up to accept Kacper’s greeting kiss.

“Want me to fry the mushrooms and onions?” Stiles asked immediately, knowing full well that his grandmother had made his favourite dish in anticipation of his return. He didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed one of the many wickedly-sharp knives from the drawer by the sink and began chopping.

When he had first come to Poland after graduating high school early, he had spent two weeks with his grandmother and had discovered that the kitchen really was the hub of her home. Their family was large and extended, but no matter who was visiting or when, there was always work to be done in the kitchen. Stiles had learned more about cooking in those two weeks than the eighteen years previous, but he swore to himself that he’d take the recipes to the grave before he made any of them for his father. He didn’t think the sheriff’s heart could take the rich, savoury deliciousness.

As Kacper stoked the wood stove and added another oak log to keep it burning hot, Stiles checked the fridge and pulled out some kielbasa and bacon to add to the mix, as well as a large knob of butter. He tossed everything into the cast iron skillet and set it on the heat, the sizzle of frying meat and onion as comforting as a blanket.

He was at ease here, comfortable and as content as he could be, but he still found himself avoiding his grandmother’s knowing eyes.

*

Later-- much later, after dinner was done, the kitchen cleaned and Babcia tucked warmly away in bed-- Stiles and Kacper left to meet more of their relatives. Kacper took their grandmother’s small Volvo and drove down the mountain back to Zakopane at a much more sedate pace than his father had travelled. The night was clear and cold, but there was no ice on the roads yet to worry about. It was only about three miles from Ząb, but they were in no rush and Stiles was grateful that Kacper seemed content to take his time.

They did eventually make it to the centre of Zakopane and along Krupówki, one of the most famous streets in Poland. Lined by shops, restaurants, bars, hotels and clubs, Krupówki was the tourist centre of southern Poland, and even in the three months that Stiles had been away he could see the way the crowds had begun to grow with the beginning of the winter tourist season.

Kacper found a side street to park on not far from the bar where they were meeting the others, and they dodged a group of loud Russian tourists as they crossed the road to _Cafe Piano._ As soon as they stepped inside the chill began to leave them, and Stiles shrugged out of his grey woollen coat and tugged off his beanie as he scanned the crowded room for his cousins.

“Come on- this way,” Kacper told him, grabbing his arm and leading him over to where Aleks and Lena were waiting in a booth, a tray of drinks already set out on the table.

They called out exuberant greetings when Stiles and Kacper dropped into the booth opposite them, passing them drinks and wasting no time in getting started on their own. The small group all settled into easy conversation, asking Kacper and Stiles about their month of travelling together since Aleks and Lena had left them in Italy.

It was easy, Stiles thought, watching Aleks’ face-- familiar in how similar it looked to his own-- as he laughed at Kacper describing Stiles’ terror at Uncle Mat’s driving. That was what he had come here for, what he had long believed lost to him in the madness that was life in Beacon Hills. There was no ease to his life there; everything was fraught with terror, laced with the sickening dread of anticipation of the arrival of the next big bad, the dread of wondering who would die next next.

But here, where no one knew anything of him other than he was a Stilinski and therefore family, it was different. For the last three months he had travelled as just another kid out to see the world, innocent and curious in a way he hadn’t been allowed to be in years. It was freeing, and he allowed himself to relax into the sensation of just _being_.

Oliwia arrived shortly after he and Kacper finished their first drink of the night, eye-catching in a hot pink leather miniskirt and a small top of shiny gold material. She reminded Stiles so much of Erica that it made his heart clench momentarily before he got to his feet and hugged her tightly. Of all the family he had met, Oliwia was the one he got on with best. She had a wicked sense of humour and teased him mercilessly whenever he made a mess of his slowly-improving Polish, but it was the way she could just be silent with him for company that he appreciated the most.

“You look like shit,” she told him, grinning past deep pink lipstick and perfectly styled dark curls.

“You look like you’re on the hunt,” he shot back as they sat, pressed closely together. “Got a particular target in mind?”

“Not yet,” she told him predatorily, her eyes flicking around the bar for a moment before focussing back on him. “How was Provence?”

“Amazing,” Stiles sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket to shower her the photos. “It was a shame you couldn’t meet us there.”

“We still have time, little cousin,” she told him wickedly.

“You’re only six months older than me,” he protested, but the argument was an old one by now, and softened with affection.

“And don’t forget it. Ooh,” she said, snatching the phone from him. “Who is _this?”_

“A friend from school, Isaac,” he told her, smiling wryly at a photo of Isaac standing alone in the middle of a field of lavender with the setting sun painting his skin a burnished gold.

“He is very pretty. Maybe you’ll give him my number.”

“Maybe I’ll never tell him you exist,” Stiles suggested with a smirk. “It’s not like you need my help to get laid.”

“Why so crass, Mieszko? For all you know I marry him and we have so many beautiful babies.”

“Any babies of yours will be beautiful, Liwi.”

“You are right, of course,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Now go get me another drink,” she added, finishing the last of her beer.

“Shots!” Lena demanded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles waved, then turned to head to the bar. He ordered ten shots, two per, and returned to the table with a wide grin. “Drink up, dudes.”

Taking in the whipped cream on top of each shot, Aleks raised an eyebrow. “Blowjobs, Mieszko? Really?” His accent was by far the thickest of them all, and it never failed to make Stiles grin when he spoke English.

“My favourite,” Kacper snorted, but tossed one back anyway.

That set the tone for the next couple of hours, until just before midnight they were ready to head out to _Finlandia Arctic Club_ , home of the best techno in Zakopane. By the time they left _Piano_ Stiles was feeling loose and relaxed, and definitely ready to dance. He slipped his jacket back on and pulled his beanie down over his ears as they left the bar, the breeze having picked up since they’d arrived, and together they made their way to the club.

Getting in wasn’t a problem as Aleks worked security with one of the bouncers. In no time at all they were checking their coats and grabbing hold of each other as they made their way through the undulating crowds, aiming for the stage. Stiles wasted no time in letting the music fill him as he let his body move, his hands resting lightly on Liwi’s hips so they moved together.

Minutes passed; hours, days-- Stiles knew nothing but the thrum of the bass vibrating in his chest and the way the bodies around him felt at once familiar and strange. He rolled his hips, Lena’s teeth glowing under the blacklights as she whirled briefly in front of him, accompanied by a guy Stiles didn’t recognise, then gratefully accepted the icy beer pressed into his hand by Aleks, his hands filled with drinks for the others as well. Stiles was feeling good; pleasantly buzzed, happy, safe, enjoying the hell out of himself, so of course, that was when it all changed.

Stiles took a drink of his beer, lifting the hem of his tight blue tee to wipe sweat from his throat as his eyes scanned the dancing crowd. The lights were strobing red, green, purple and blue and everything seemed to be happening in stop motion when Stiles saw him, continued to glance away before his eyes snapped back to the man standing in the middle of the heaving bodies, stock still and eyes wide in the same shock Stiles himself was feeling.

“Derek,” he breathed, his stomach flipping as his heart began to race. The smile that briefly tugged one side of Derek’s mouth upwards was enough to make Stiles’ mouth go dry, and he felt his feet freeze to the floor as Derek moved slowly towards him, movements surrealistic and disjointed in the strobing light of the club. It felt like no time at all before they were standing face to face, closer than Stiles could remember them having been before in a situation that didn’t involve loss or violence.

“I saw a guy,” Derek said, his voice somehow clear as a bell even over the techno and shouted conversations around them. “He looked like you and smelled like you and I--” He broke off, expression confused, and shook his head minutely. They stared at each other for a minute longer before an honest-to-god smile complete with teeth and crow’s feet broke out. “Stiles,” Derek said, and his voice was so damn pleased that Stiles suddenly found himself held safe within the comforting strength of Derek’s arms without any memory of having gotten there.

They stood there together for long moments, just holding each other tight and ignoring the hundreds of other people crowded around them until Derek stepped back, Stiles swaying forward in an attempt to prolong the contact but foiled by Derek’s hands curled around his biceps.

“I want-” Derek began, but broke off with a shake of his head. “I’m at work, and I’ve got to get back,” he explained, his eyes intense where they met Stiles’. “I finish at three,” he said, still staring. “Will you wait for me?”

Stiles had never been much good at saying no to Derek Hale and meaning it.

*

Not even bothering to try and make up an excuse, Stiles just told Kacper that he had run into Derek and that they were going to catch up. Kacper grinned and promised to crash for the night at Aleks’ place so Babcia wouldn’t get suspicious at only one of them making it home.

They were all waiting out the front of _Finlandia_ after three, Oliwia with a cigarette in one hand that she was barely smoking, Lena laughing and huddling over her phone with a group of girlfriends she had bumped into, and Aleks, Stiles and Kacper sitting side-by-side on a concrete garden wall, Stiles’ leg jiggling impatiently as he forced himself not to check his phone for the time.

“Are you sure about this?” Kacper asked quietly, nudging Stiles’ shoulder with his own. “We can just go, if you want?”

They all knew that Stiles had left Beacon Hills broken-hearted, but only Kacper knew it had been because of Derek, able to put a face to the name from a brief Skype call Derek had once interrupted. Aleks shifted a little closer as well, non-verbally adding his support to the idea.

“No-- I need to finish this,” Stiles told them, sudden fatigue and the few-too-many drinks he’d had making his tongue clumsy with the Polish, Aleks huffing a laugh beneath his breath.

“I don’t know,” Kacper said, “it doesn’t look to me like _he_ considers it finished.”

The emphasis on the word made Stiles’ head snap up in sudden attention, immediately focussing on Derek where he was standing less than ten feet away, watching the cousins where they sat with a bemused expression on his face.

“I never realised the family resemblance was so strong,” he said softly, his eyes flicking between Kacper, Aleks and Stiles as though he was cataloguing every difference between the three of them. “Should have known, I guess.”

“Hey, Mieszko,” Oliwia called out in Polish from where she was stood away from them, now speaking with a guy none of them knew. “Who is your sexy friend?”

Eternally grateful for the fact that Derek couldn’t understand a word she was saying, Stiles shoved to his feet and turned to glare at her. “None of your business, you busybody,” he scolded her, his eyes flicking briefly to Derek who was still staring at him intently. “I’m going to go-- I’ll talk to you all tomorrow.”

“You hope,” Lena laughed, blowing him a kiss.

“You will tell me everything,” Oliwia added.

“Try not to jump at the sun with a hoe,” Kacper told him with a wry grin as Aleks flanked Stiles draped an arm across his shoulders.

“You and your insane idioms,” Stiles groaned. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s like biting off more than you can chew,” Aleks told him, slapping him on the back. “Now go. Make good choices,” he added in English, laughing evilly when Stiles glared at him.

“You are dead to me,” Stiles snarled back in Polish as Kacper pulled him into a hug.

“Be careful, little cousin,” he said against Stiles’ ear. “And you call me if you need anything at all, okay?”

“Thanks,” Stiles told him, then allowed himself to be hugged by Lena and Oliwia in a confusing tangle of arms and artificial smoke-scented hair until it seemed that all of a sudden they were just _gone_ , leaving Derek and Stiles alone in front of the club.

He looked good, Stiles though, taking in the comfortable way he held himself, wrapped up in the ubiquitous black jacket, only now it was shearling-lined black leather. The boots and jeans were the same, but the beard was thicker than Stiles remembered, and all he wanted to do was sink his fingers into it and fell the scratch of it across his own face.

“Coffee?” Derek asked, the overly-patient tone and tiny smirk telling Stiles that this probably wasn’t the first time he had asked.

“Please, yes,” Stiles began in Polish before stopping and switching to English. “Yeah, okay.”

They fell into step as they walked along the street, Derek with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and Stiles fiddling with the buttons on the front of his coat.

“They’re all related to you?” Derek asked eventually.

Glancing back over his shoulder in the direction they’d come from, Stiles shrugged with one shoulder and smiled a little. “Yeah. Kacper and Liwi are second cousins-- he’s got the short hair and she was the one in pink and gold-- Aleks is Dad’s brother’s kid, which is probably why we look so similar, and Lena is Aleks’ sister.”

“It was Aleks I saw at the bar,” Derek told him, stepping briefly in behind him as he moved out of the way of a laughing couple too wrapped up in each other to watch where they were going. The familiar presence pressed close to Stiles made him shiver, a fact he was sure was not lost on Derek. “I looked up to ask him what he wanted to order and for a moment I thought it was you.”

Stiles glanced at him before looking away again. “What gave it away?”

“His eyes,” Derek said immediately, surprising the hell out of Stiles. “And the moles on his cheek. They’re not the same as yours.”

Well, Derek certainly hadn’t lost his ability to drop mind-blowing statements like they were nothing, and it made a semi-hysterical laugh threaten to bubble up from Stiles’ throat. “Yeah,” he finally managed as Derek reached out and pulled open the door of a building Stiles had been about to walk past, “of course.”

They entered the softly-lit coffee shop and found a small round table with two seats set adjacent to each other towards the back. Stiles sat and managed a short nod when Derek asked if he still drank his coffee white and without sugar, watching as he moved through the other patrons towards the counter. He hadn’t even known that Derek knew how he took his coffee.

Stiles pulled his phone out and swiped it unlocked, then hesitated. Who was he supposed to message about this? He didn’t know what Derek was doing in Poland, or if he wanted anyone to know he was here, and if there was one thing Stiles could respect it was the desire to stay away from all the Beacon Hills bullshit he too had fled from.

As he sat and stared at his messages folder, finally having made up his mind to message his dad and let him know, Derek returned with two coffees and a plate of flaky pastries in hand. He set everything down on the table and raised an eyebrow at Stiles’ phone.

“I was going to message Dad and tell him I’d run into you, but I don’t think he’d believe me,” Stiles mused, his eyes flicking restlessly from Derek’s face to his hands and across his shoulders before shrugging and reaching for his coffee.

“Can I?” Derek asked, holding out his hand for Stiles’ phone. Curious, Stiles gave it to him, letting out a startled bark of laughter when Derek then grabbed the edge of his chair, hauling him closer with a groan of wood on wood as the legs scraped across the floor. To his surprise, Derek held the phone up and pressed his cheek against Stiles’ smiling a little for a selfie that perfectly captured Stiles’ bewildered surprise. “Send that to your father.”

“Dude,” Stiles breathed when Derek handed his phone back and began to stir sugar into his own drink. “Who _are_ you?”

It broke some of the tension that had been between them, and Derek smiled again, the expression as new and sweet as anything Stiles had seen before. The conversation flowed easily, and they traded stories about travelling and exploring, unsurprised to discover that they had visited many of the same places. Stiles updated Derek on what everyone back home was up to (Lydia and Jackson in Boston at MIT; Scott and Kira attending community college in Beacon City; Isaac in France with Chris; Erica and Boyd in San Francisco and talking about having a baby) and didn’t comment on the sad wistfulness that crossed Derek’s face, or the way he leaned a little closer to Stiles and pressed their knees together beneath the tiny table that was far too small for two men their size.

Derek told Stiles about finding some of his own father’s family in the U.K., and how much he _hated_ London. The noise and smells of pollution and unease had been too much for him, and he had spent a month living on a farm in Ireland just to get the miasma of the city out of his nose and hair and clothes. This was a mental image that Stiles laughed himself sick over, particularly once Derek produced his own phone and showed Stiles a selfie he had taken and sent to Cora in which he was sitting in front of a low stone fence in a field, wearing a thick cream-coloured sweater and surrounded by woolly black-faced sheep.

“Oh may _god_ ,” Stiles gasped breathlessly, his belly aching with laughter. “With that beard you look _just like the sheep,”_ he exclaimed.

Derek laughed too, a soft huff of sound. “That’s exactly what Cora said,” he confessed, showing Stiles the message chain.

“How is she, anyway?” Stiles asked, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes with the back of a hand. “Still down in South America? To be honest, that’s where we all thought you were. Cora made it sound like you were still there with her.”

Smiling fondly, Derek stared down at a photo Cora had sent him in return for the sheep selfie, looking happy and relaxed in a straw hat with sparkling ocean behind her. “She’s doing great, actually. And I was there, for a long time. But I wanted to… see more, I guess.”

 _‘Get further away’_ , is what Stiles heard, but given that they were both sitting in a cafe in the mountains between Poland and Slovakia he figured he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. They were silent for a long moment, and it was only then that Stiles realised they were the next-to-last patrons left in the cafe, and the staff there were beginning to clean up for the night.

“I guess I should get going-” Stiles began.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Derek asked over the top of him, the two of them staring at each other over their empty mugs for a beat until Derek flushed a little and dropped his eyes. “I-- it’s been so long since I’ve been around anyone that’s really Pack,” he said softly, and Stiles’ heart _ached_ for him.

“Sure, man; let me just text Kacper and let him know, okay?” The look of relief on Derek’s face made Stiles wonder just how hard the last three years had been for him. He sent a quick message to Kacper, rolled his eyes and hid his phone from Derek at the message filled with thumbs up and eggplant emojis he received in return, then noticed the WhatsApp notification.

 _You tell that fool boy that the Stilinskis found him once, and we’ll do it again if he ever thinks of leaving without so much as a by-your-leave,_ his dad had sent him in reply to the selfie. _I love you, son- be good to each other._

“Dad says that if you think about running away without telling us where you’re going we’ll just come and find you again,” Stiles told Derek as he mused over his father’s words. “And if you know anything about my dad you should know that is absolutely a promise _and_ a threat.”

They got to their feet and carried their dishes back to the counter on their way out. “He’s definitely where you get your tenacity from,” Derek agreed wryly as they stepped back out into the cold, Derek reaching out to tug Stiles’ beanie down further so it completely covered his ears. “Come on, I’m parked the next block down. I don’t know about you, but I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

In spite of the coffee a sudden lethargy stole over Stiles and he yawned widely. “Sounds good,” he said through it, and let the comforting familiarity of Derek at his side lead him through the town. He climbed into the beat-up old pickup that Derek apparently drove now and promptly fell asleep with his head pressed against the window, only to jerk awake what felt like a minute later when Derek hesitantly rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course we’re in the middle of the forest,” Stiles mumbled sleepily as he stared out the window, frowning confusedly when he tried to open the door but there was no give.

“It sticks,” Derek explained, reaching across Stiles to shove the door open with a brief, jarring screech of metal on metal.

He moved back a little but froze when Stiles reached out, clumsy in his fatigue, and dragged his hand across the back of Derek’s neck. “I’m glad you found me,” he said easily, sleepiness making him less guarded with his words than he would otherwise have been, then he climbed out of the truck and stretched his back as he looked around.

The house was small, set alone in the woods and surrounded by nothing but bare trees and a thin layer of early snow, and Stiles moved towards it until something touching his leg, making him yelp.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said, and even in the dark Stiles could hear the smile. “That’s just the cat.”

“You have a cat?” Stiles asked, trying to see but not finding much more than an indistinct dark shape apparently hellbent on fouling his feet and tripping him up.

“No,” Derek snorted, unlocking the door and holding it open for Stiles as the cat shot out from around his ankles and past Derek into the house. “He just lives here. Sometimes. He comes with the house, I think.”

Something about the reluctant affection in Derek’s voice made Stiles grin, but he said nothing as he brushed past him and further on into the dark hall, hesitating when he was unsure where to go from there. One of Derek’s hands wrapped around his and led him down the hall and to the left, a deliberateness to the action that made Stiles’ stomach flip and Derek inhale sharply before he let go and moved away to turn on a bedside lamp, the warm glow of it illuminating Derek’s bedroom before he turned and left the room.

There wasn’t much to the space, just a queen bed with the blankets messily thrown across it, a single bedside table and a small firebox in the corner, but there were five-foot high windows all along the far wall that promised a gorgeous view when it became light enough to see. Stiles glanced curiously at the stack of books on the bedside, but the invitingly rumpled duvet proved to be too much for Stiles to resist and he dropped face-first onto the bed, inhaling the comforting and long-missed scent of Derek as he rolled unashamedly in the nest-like bed.

“Make yourself at home,” Derek said dryly, his voice sudden in what had been a previously silent room and making Stiles startle.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, freezing in place where he had almost wormed his way up to the pillows. “I’m probably getting my smell all over your stuff, huh?” He sat and and began to swing his legs off the bed when Derek spoke from where he’d crossed the room to set a small armful of chopped wood into the firebox and start the fire. “I don’t mind.”

And that, that right there, was the thing that Stiles had been missing, he realised suddenly. For whatever else they had ended up being to each other before Derek had left for good, it was the easy acceptance of Stiles’ presence in his life that he had yearned for. He’d had that once with Scott, but then Scott had discovered Allison, and later Kira, and all that had changed. Even his relationship with his dad had changed post-Nogitsune to incorporate a degree of care of mindfulness that had never really been there before.

But with Derek… with Derek it had always been easy. Derek was Derek, Stiles was Stiles, and that was all they really needed to know to be able to rely on each other as they had muddled their way through the shitshow that their lives had eventually become. And here, three years, a million miles from home and in the middle of Nowhere, Europe, Stiles had found it again.

Something of Stiles’ realisation must have alerted Derek, because he looked back over his shoulder towards the bed, an eyebrow cocked in question. Stiles just shook his head and waved a hand dismissively, not that Derek looked convinced. “Bathroom?” Stiles asked getting to his feet and shrugging out of his jacket, watching as Derek watched him.

“Straight across the hall,” Derek said after a moment. “There’s a chest under the basin with clothes in it; grab whatever you need from out of there. There’s a spare towel on the back of the door.”

Stiles escaped to the bathroom, a tiny space with another of the tall windows like the ones in the bedroom. He set the water running to warm up as he undressed, wincing at the squeal of the hot water pipes. He found a spare toothbrush in the cabinet over the sink and brushed his teeth as he climbed into the shower stall, the heat slowly sinking into his muscles and making him relax as he began to feel warm again. He still wasn’t quite used to the cold here, but his ability to ignore it was increasing, so he considered that sufficient adaptation in the lead up to winter.

It wasn’t the fastest shower he’d ever had, but he wasn’t sure how much water he was working with, so he made sure to turn the water off when it was still running hot, hastily drying off while goosebumps formed on his skin. He raided the chest for clothes, settling on a plain white long-sleeved tee and a pair of sweats that were a little loose around the waist but didn’t leave his ankles bare to the chill. The soft fabric clung to his slightly-damp skin as he towel dried his hair, but he ignored it in favour of leaving the steamy bathroom and padding back to the bedroom on bare feet, Derek gone once more but a glass of water left on the bedside table for him.

Downing it in one long pull, Stiles grabbed the first book off the top of the pile and set the pillows up so they were comfortable for him to sit back against, throwing the duvet across his lower legs to keep his feet warm as he began to read. He heard Derek moving around the house and eventually entering the bathroom, the pipes screaming again briefly. Not long after that Stiles was joined by a huge ginger cat, presumably the one who’d tried to kill him by tripping him up in the dark when they’d arrived.

“Hey there,” Stiles murmured, putting the book down for a moment as he held a hand out to the cat, who promptly ignored him to lie sprawled across the corner of the bed closest to the firebox and twist onto his back, paws curled against his belly as he stared at Stiles with luminous green eyes that threatened evisceration should he so much as _think_ about touching the floofy white tummy. Stiles waited until those watchful eyes closed before leaning carefully forward with a hand outstretched, only to jerk back in surprise when the cat actually growled at him, eyes still closed and posture still relaxed.

That was about when Derek returned, dressed similarly to Stiles and looking soft and touchable with his damp hair and sleepy eyes.

“Your cat is a fucking asshole,” Stiles informed him, tone injured.

Derek laughed and jiggled one of the cat’s white paws as he rounded the bed to draw the long blackout blinds down the windows, its tail twitching but otherwise remaining still. “That’s what I call him.”

Stiles stared blankly at him, then grinned. “You named the cat ‘Asshole’?”

Derek shrugged and crouched in front of the firebox, using a poker to settle the wood inside before closing and latching the door again and returning to the bed. “Seemed apropos.”

Laughing as he flipped back the covers for Derek to get into bed, Stiles wasn’t really surprised when Derek crowded close against him and rested his head on Stiles’ thigh. Stiles just shifted the book to rest against Derek’s shoulder and dropped his other hand to card gently through Derek’s hair, the repetitive motion soft and slow. They lay together like that, seemingly alone in the universe but for Asshole at the end of the bed and only the wind outside and the crackling of the fire inside for company until Derek spoke.

“I came here because of you,” he murmured sleepily, his body relaxed and the shadow of his eyelashes resting still against his cheekbones. “I didn’t know your family live here in _this_ part of Poland, but I knew you were Polish and even though we were so far apart it made me feel closer to you, being here.”

The confession made Stiles feel like all the breath had been sucked straight from his lungs and his grip on the book faltered, sending it tumbling into the blankets as Derek catted into his hand, still laced in his hair. “Why did you leave me?” Stiles asked softly, not at all the question he meant to ask, especially when tension began to seep back into Derek, but Stiles rested his free hand high on Derek’s chest, thumb stroking across the top of his collarbone to settle him again.

It was a long time before Derek answered, and his eyes remained closed when he eventually replied. “It was only because of you that I stayed for as long as I did,” he said quietly.

Stiles stared down at Derek, stunned by the confession, and found watercolour eyes staring back at him, unguarded and vulnerable. “Why?”

Derek’s smile was going to take some getting used to, Stiles thought absently to himself, surprised when Derek reached up to run his thumb over the fullness of Stiles’ bottom lip. “Do you really not know?” he asked, amusement colouring his voice as Stiles’ heart began to pound. “I think you do.”

“Yeah, _now_ ,” Stiles shot back, desire winding through him when his tongue flicked out to brush at the pad of Derek’s thumb and his pupils blew out in the most over display of arousal Stiles had ever seen. “But before about ten seconds ago I had no idea!”

The smile turned into an outright laugh at Stiles’ outraged expression, and Derek rolled off Stiles and up onto his knees, splayed wide as he rested his weight back on his heels. “I didn’t think I’d been particularly covert,” he confessed. “I was sure you’d figured it out.”

“Oh sure, Mr. Eyebrows Of Doom,” Stiles snarked, his glance flicking down to where the fabric of Derek’s sweats was pulled tight across his groin before he flushed pink and jerked his gaze back up. “What with the shoving me up against walls and constantly getting in my face and putting your hands on… me…” He trailed off, eyes wide in sudden realisation. “Holy shit,” he breathed, “you are _not_ a subtle man.”

“Too subtle for you, apparently,” Derek reminded him.

“Yeah, but I’m an idiot,” Stiles told him dismissively. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I would like it very much if you would come over here and put your hands all over me right now.”

Derek’s laughter was a delight, and Stiles would always maintain that his dopey grin in return was solely because of it. He watched in startled amazement as Derek knee-walked across the bed and threw one of his legs over Stiles’ lap to settle there, wasting no time in cradling Stiles’ face in his hands and proceeding to nuzzle the hell out of him, running their noses slowly together, lips caressing cheeks, the gentle rasp of beard against beard, the hint of teeth along jawline until Stiles couldn’t take it anymore and turned his face to Derek, slotting their mouths together as easily as breathing.

The skin of Derek’s back when Stiles slipped his hands beneath the thin cotton of his tee was perfect and warm and velvety smooth where it lay across powerful muscle and delicate bone. As he lost himself to the sensation of Derek’s tongue sweeping against his, lips teasing and loving he pressed his hands harder to the back of Derek’s ribs, pulling his torso closer until they were resting chest to chest and there was not a snowball’s chance in hell of mistaking how interested either of them were in what was happening.

“This is not how I imagined this going,” Stiles murmured, chin tilted up so that Derek could taste his throat.

“You imagined it?” Derek asked, voice husky and dark.

“Daily,” Stiles sighed when Derek’s fingers tightened in his hair and tilted his head to one side so he could worry at the tendon that displayed. “Nightly. Hourly, sometimes.” Derek’s snorted laugh was inelegant, but it did some serious things to Stiles stomach and he inhaled sharply. “It’s pretty much exclusively you I think about every time I jerk off.”

 _That_ put a stop to Derek’s laughter pretty damn fast, and the next thing Stiles knew he had been dragged down the bed so he was now lying flat on his back and his borrowed shirt was gone, along with Asshole who snarled angrily as his place at the end of the bed was disturbed.

“Christ, are you sure that’s actually a cat?” Stiles asked as the ginger ball of indignation sat in front of the firebox and judged them through narrowed eyes. “I could exorcise it, just to be sure?”

“Already made him drink holy water,” Derek muttered around a nipple as his hand fisted the elastic of Stiles’ waistband and tugged it downwards. “There’s nothing I don’t want to do to you,” he sighed happily as Stiles helped him kick the sweatpants off. He then glared at Stiles who already had his mouth open and pointed a decisive finger at him. “That that in the spirit in which it was intended, and not as the challenge I know you’re dying to turn it into.”

Stiles tried for his best _‘who, me?’_ look but knew he’d failed miserably when Derek rolled his eyes and took his dick in hand to begin stroking it curiously. “Jesus,” he ground out shakily. “Holy fuck, Derek.”

Looking entirely too pleased at having rendered Stiles virtually incomprehensible, Derek leaned forward and carefully drew the head of Stiles’ dick into his mouth, keeping things slow and wet as he sucked gently, one hip holding Stiles’ hip firmly down to the bed.

“That’s- oh _wow_ \- that’s definitely a thing,” Stiles told him as his hips jerked restlessly. “Being held down. You can do that anytime you like. _Please.”_

Derek made a mental note of it and lifted his other hand to give Stiles a thumbs up, only to choke when Stiles grabbed his hand and curled his tongue around that very thumb, fellating it like he was some kind of fucking porn star.

“Maybe you should come up here so I can suck your cock instead?” he suggested to Derek, shouting out a surprised laugh when Derek almost rolled him off the bed in his haste to get them both lying on their sides, positioned to share mutually enthusiastic blowjobs. “Damn it, you still have your stupid pants on,” Stiles muttered as he began shoving them down, only to freeze and snap his teeth together on a curse when Derek just swallowed him down again as far as he could.

Once he managed not blow right then and there, Stiles _finally_ got to taste Derek, using his tongue to its best advantage to drive him out of his ever-loving mind. He filled his hands with perfect handfuls of exquisitely muscled ass and gently pulled to encourage Derek to start rocking his hips, tearing a tortured groan from him as he finally got the hint and started making tiny, abortive thrusts, carefully fucking into Stiles’ mouth.

Two deliciously dry fingers brushing against his hole, pressing and resting but not sliding in-- not _yet_ \-- was a promise that Stiles was helpless to ignore. He groaned long and loud and clutched convulsively at Derek’s waist in desperate warning and then he was coming, his balls so tight they ached as Derek swallowed every drop straight down like it was nothing.

Pulling off Derek so abruptly that it forced a semi-pained sound from him, Stiles shoved Derek onto his back and got down onto his knees on the floor at the end of the bed, yanking the sweats the rest of the way off and shoving Derek’s thighs wide enough to slot his shoulders between, settling one over his left shoulder as he held Derek’s cock and slid it, thick and perfect, back into his mouth.

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek sighed, open and raw and so painfully affectionate that Stiles’ heart clenched to hear it. He felt Derek shift and glanced up to watch him go up onto his elbows, staring down at him with want-filled eyes and something else, something deeper lurking just a little further back. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, reaching down to palm Stiles’ face, his thumb stroking over the hinge of his jaw. When Stiles realised he was probably feeling the way his mouth was working to bring Derek off his dick gave a heroic twitch where it lay against his thigh.

The predatory grin Derek levelled at him meant that he probably knew just how interested Stiles was becoming again, and he looked thrilled about it, even as his breathing sped up and his hips started moving again, the hand on his face shifting slightly to curl fingers around the back of Stiles’ neck and hold him gently in place. Stiles moaned softly and sucked harder, eyes slamming closed and fingers digging into the muscle of Derek’s thighs as he was overwhelmed by the way Derek was staring at him like he was something cherished; someone _loved_.

When Derek came it was quiet, a murmured warning the only sound preceding it. Stiles stubbornly refused to pull off and just pushed a little further, took Derek a little deeper until he came, back arched off the bed and the fingers in Stiles’ hair clenching tight without forcing. Stiles gentled him through it until Derek shook with oversensitivity and he carefully pulled back, dropping his forehead to the inside of Derek’s knee and knowing full well that he would never forget how perfect the weight of Derek’s cock was against his tongue, the way he whispered Stiles’ name with such awed reverence into the hush of the room when they remained like that for an eternity’s worth of heartbeats.

Carefully sliding his leg off Stiles’ shoulder prompted an agonised groan from Derek and made Stiles laugh, winching as his own knees popped when he stood and crawled back up to where Derek was lying flat on the bed with one arm lying across his eyes. He lowered it and stared up at Stiles gently drawing him down for a long, sweet kiss, their shared tastes mingling and making Stiles shiver.

 _“‘Of everything I have seen,’”_ he quoted in Polish, voice raspy and quiet, _“‘it’s you I want to go on seeing. Of everything I’ve touched, it’s your flesh I want to go on touching.’”_

Derek’s eyes creased at the corners in a smile, glittering prettily in the soft bedroom light. “I have no idea what that means,” he confessed, “but I suspect it’s achingly romantic.”

“You can’t prove that,” Stiles said, kissing him again with lips curled in a smile.

“I love you,” Derek told him in return, staring at Stiles when he froze, truly stunned. “I can’t say it in Polish, and I know that saying it immediately following the most incredible blow job I’ve ever gotten is phenomenally bad timing, but I waited too long to tell you once before, and I don't want to make the same mistake again.” He inhaled, a long, shuddering thing, and managed a small smile. “I don’t expect you to say it back, but I just needed-- for my own sake, selfishly, I guess-- I needed you to know. So. I do. I love you.”

Stiles just stared at him for a long moment before his face broke out in an enormous grin. “Oh my god, Babcia is going to _adore_ you.” He dropped down onto Derek’s chest and tucked his head beneath Derek’s chin, nudging into him as he settled with his body draped over him. Then he tilted his head back, grabbed Derek’s chin and pulled him down for another kiss, and snuggled back in, pulling the blanket over them both. “I love you too, by the way. I’ve always loved you.”

Outside the window, between trees dropping the last of their leaves and starlight peeking through gaps in the cloud, the night crept on.

*

Stiles had been so incredibly, hilariously right, of course: Babcia _loved_ Derek with an unwavering passion that even Stiles thought he would be hard pressed to match. She turned into a giggly young girl again whenever he was around, always patting his face or his butt when she could get away with it and spouting sweet nothings at him in rapidfire Polish that he couldn’t understand, but somehow inferred enough from to blush furiously whenever she sighed longingly and rested her chin in her hands as she spoke.

The best part, though, the part that made Stiles smile the same smile he was sure his grandmother wore was the way she called him _Miś_ . It wasn’t until she had addressed Derek by the name directly that he realised it even _was_ a name and it was the one she was using for him.

“What does _Miś_ mean?” he asked Stiles one night as they lay together in Derek’s bed, sweat cooling on their skin as their hearts slowed after their lovemaking. “Is it like when your cousins call you Mieczko? I thought that was a diminutive of your name, though.”

Stiles started laughing. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Derek stared at him, aghast. “Oh god, I don’t, do I?”

Stiles laughed harder. “It means ‘teddy bear’,” he managed to get out between laughs. “Babcia says you are hairy outside like a bear, but soft inside like a teddy.” Derek sighed but Stiles held up a hand to indicate that he wasn’t done. “Of course then Kacper had to explain to her what ‘bear’ means in the...er, _adult context,_ and she said--” He broke off, howling with laughter and had to take a moment before her could speak again. “She said that with the leather that you wear it’s even more accurate a name for you.”

It took him a moment, but the way Derek’s mouth dropped open in shock was a privilege to behold. “Holy-- _Stiles,”_ he hissed, “your seventy year old grandmother has a leather-daddy kink! That is not remotely funny!”

“It is, though,” Stiles cackled maniacally, “it absolutely is!”

Something suddenly occurred to Derek and he sat up to glare at Stiles. “I do _not_ have a bear body,” he scowled.

Stiles was so gone he thought it might actually kill him. He couldn’t breathe and his stomach was aching with the force of his laughter as he face-planted into Derek’s lap. Unimpressed, Derek just waited, face set in a murderous expression. When Stiles finally had control of himself he crawled into Derek’s lap and kissed him deeply before trailing kisses along his cheek to his ear.

“You might not have a bear body,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Derek’s ear, “but that daddy kink might just be an inherited trait.” Derek’s groan was pained. “What?” Stiles asked, displeased with the way Derek had gone stiff. Not in the fun way, either.

“Thanks to you and your irrepressible grandmother,” he said tightly, “I now have a vivid mental image of your father and _Chris-freaking-Argent_.”

It took Stiles a moment but the look of horror that curdled across his face was a picture. “I swear to god,” he hissed, jabbing a hard finger into Derek’s chest, “if you have destroyed my ability to call you daddy in bed because your mind is a scary, _horrifying_ place, I will _end_ you.”

“I’m not the one who made insinuations about hereditary kinks, you moron,” Derek groaned, throwing himself petulantly back onto the bed.

“I’m not the one who looked at Chris Argent and thought ‘daddy’,” Stiles shot back.

“Lie,” Derek smirked up at him, tapping a knowing finger on Stiles’ chest.

“Fuck you, I bet everyone has,” Stiles said dismissively. “He’s totally a daddy.”

Derek sat up again, his arms sliding around Stiles and heat in his eyes. “He’s not _your_ daddy, though.”

Grinning wickedly and kissing Derek filthily, Stiles wriggled as Derek’s hands slipped down to grab his ass. “Nope; that position is filled.”

“It’s about to be,” Derek growled playfully, flipping them over so his body was bearing Stiles down onto the bed.

“You’ve already got the terrible dad-jokes down,” Stiles told him, then started laughing again when Derek’s fingers found his ribs.

*

The two weeks that followed were magic.

Derek fit into Stiles’ family as seamlessly as if he’d been there all along. Oliwia in particular took a shine to him, but it was Babcia who loved him best. She was unrelenting in calling him _Miś_ , even going so far as to introduce him by that name to the other women she met for lunch after shopping at the produce market twice a week, which Derek accompanied her to so he could carry her bags. The feeling was mutual, though, and Derek never missed an opportunity to fuss over her, making sure the scarf she wore over her hair was secure before she left the house, that her car was serviced to stay safe over the winter, and that her pile of chopped hardwood for the fire remained full and dry. Stiles and his grandmother both particularly enjoyed that last one, sitting on the back steps of Babcia’s little house and watching appreciatively as Derek chopped the wood. Shirtless.

It was a bucolic idyll, but it wasn’t long until Stiles, Kacper and Oliwia were having to pack to leave for university in just two days’ time. Stiles looked up from where he was rifling through the basket of clean, unfolded laundry on the end of Derek’s bed, a frown on his face. “Have you seen that dark green hoodie with the white stuff on it?” he asked distractedly as Derek came in and sat next to the basket, hooking his fingers in the pockets of Stiles’ jeans and drawing him close to stand between Derek’s legs.

“Hey, you,” He said fondly, smoothing Derek’s hair back from his face before resting his hands on Derek’s shoulders as Derek propped his chin on Stiles’ belly and looked up at him. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking about you going off to uni and living in Warsaw, and I know it’s only a couple of hours away, but I was wondering if maybe, if you wanted-”

“Whatever it is,” Stiles smiled, “just come out with it before you have an aneurysm.”

Derek inhaled and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ stomach. “How would you feel if maybe I came with you?”

“To Warsaw?” Stiles asked, his eyes lighting up. “Are you for real? Oh my god, I’ve wanted to ask you to come with us for the last two weeks, but I didn’t want to seem needy or codependent-- this is so great!”

Derek grinned, relieved. “Actually, I was thinking of studying. Courses at the Polonicum to learn Polish start soon, and that way I’d have something to do while you were in class.”

“Are you-- are we--” Stiles began, then seemed to steel himself. “I’ve kind of just been operating under the assumption that you and I are… permanent,” he said, “a foregone conclusion. And I want that, but I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like I expect anything from you, you know? So if you’re doing this just because--”

Slapping a hand over Stiles’ mouth was proving to be the second most effective of getting him to stop talking, a fact Derek was happy to capitalise on whenever he needed to, but in this instance he just pulled at Stiles’ pants until he was laughing and bracketing Derek’s body with his own, broad and strong and capable as he kissed Derek.

“I’m doing this because I want to, and also because I want to do it with you, okay?” Derek told him firmly. “Would I be doing it if you and I hadn’t found each other here? Maybe not, but I wouldn’t have stayed here as long as I have and I wouldn’t be making half the plans I am if we hadn’t.” He shrugged and leaned up to kiss Stiles again. “I love you. A lot of my life from now on is going to be filtered through that.” Derek couldn’t remember ever having seen Stiles so happy before, but he wasn’t about to lie to himself and say he wasn’t filled with pride at having been the cause of it.

They lost themselves to familiar rhythms, happy and loved and content, and when Stiles walked to his first classes the following Monday, Asshole waiting at home to chew any books he could get his evil socked paws on, he got to kiss Derek goodbye on the steps of the lecture hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles' quote to Derek is from Pablo Neruda's 'Amor':  
>   
>  _Of everything I have seen,_  
>  it’s you I want to go on seeing:  
> of everything I’ve touched,  
> it’s your flesh I want to go on touching.  
> I love your orange laughter.  
> I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.
> 
> What am I to do, love, loved one?  
> I don’t know how others love  
> or how people loved in the past.  
> I live, watching you, loving you.  
> Being in love is my nature.
> 
> You please me more each afternoon.


End file.
